


Over the Hill

by CarneySibley



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Bloodline - Claudia Gray, Star Wars: Resistance Reborn - Rebecca Roanhorse
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27027244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarneySibley/pseuds/CarneySibley
Summary: A milestone birthday gives Ransolm Casterfo a little more than he expected.Set in the galaxy far, far away, between scenes in chapter 44 of the story “Embers” by Antillia.
Relationships: Ransolm Casterfo/Hevasi Joy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Over the Hill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Antillia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antillia/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Embers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736084) by [Antillia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antillia/pseuds/Antillia). 



> Happy birthday month, my friend! I thought you and your favorite sandy-haired diplomat should celebrate together. :)

In a galaxy where Wookiees lived over 400 standard years and Maz Kanata had clocked more than a millennium, it was easy for humans to feel shortchanged by their hundred-year lifespan. It was a sentiment Ransolm Casterfo didn’t share. He had cheated death enough times; every day thereafter was an unexpected gift, especially when he remembered friends lost too soon.

Consequently, Ransolm wasn’t too perturbed about reaching the usual halfway mark. A daily swim kept the stiffness out of his left shoulder. Reading glasses adequately magnified the birthday messages streaming across his datapad. Graying hair only made the Prime Senator look more distinguished. And Hevasi’s morning greeting? It proved that one part of his anatomy, at least, was working perfectly.

Nevertheless, he was tired enough after a day of trade negotiations to welcome the thought of a quiet celebration at home. Just his wife, his seven-year-old daughter (“seven _and a_ _half_ , Papa”), and a slice of _meekook_ made with Riosan honey. He wished Aren could be present, but his son was currently traipsing across the galaxy with Master Sky Walker.

Ran knew something was up the moment he walked in the door. The house was unnaturally quiet, for starters. For weeks, he’d been greeted by the sound of Leia Joy playing the same repetitive tune on the klavier or the valachord. It was brief, but annoyingly catchy, and whenever he asked Leia the name of the piece, she offered only a mock-innocent, wide-eyed shrug.

Furthermore, the door to the hall closet hung slightly open, and a pair of Aren’s shoes peeked out. He’d been away for months; how did his shoes migrate down from his bedroom? Ran shook his head. Time to see if the cleaning droid needed an update.

Neither Hevasi nor Leia was anywhere in sight, so Ran trudged upstairs for a shower.

***

Half an hour later, a considerably refreshed Ransolm made his way downstairs. At the foot of the staircase, he stopped and sniffed the air suspiciously. Stars alive, was that fire? Ran sprinted for the kitchen.

He never made it there.

  
_***_

Standing in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, a giggling Leia dimmed the overhead lights. Grabbing her nearest companion, she waltzed to the other end of the dining room and threw open the door to the hall.

Ran narrowly missed being smacked in the face as the dining room door burst outward. He skidded to a stop, gaping at the scene in front of him.

An assortment of guests grinned at him, including Rey and little Han, Master Sky Walker, the Damerons, Charth Brethen, and Hevasi. The biggest _meekook_ he had ever seen graced the table in front of them. It was blazing with long, thin candles. How in the great galactic core did that not set off their home’s fire suppression system? Ran’s eyes shifted to the corner nearest him, and then he knew. Aren Casterfo had once gone through a rather notorious slicing phase. His son was home.

Two sets of arms – one tan and tiny, one blue and rivaling his own in size — flung themselves around him.

“Happy birthday, Papa!” 

Leia broke the embrace and ran to the valachord. Aren turned on the holoprojector. Ran gaped at the image that appeared.

Was that _William Franklyn Leathers_? William Franklyn Leathers, the klavier prodigy? Ran had every single Leathers album ever recorded saved on his datapad.

“Prime Senator,” Leathers greeted him. “I understand you have a milestone birthday today. Your daughter and I,” he nodded toward Leia, “have been working on a duet using a traditional birthday song from my homeworld. We’d like to play it for you. Ready, Leia?”

Leia moved over to the valachord, Leathers sat down at his klavier, and suddenly Leia’s annoyingly catchy tune acquired a much richer tone. Ran winked away the dampness in his eyes as his daughter’s childish treble mingled with Leathers’s warm tenor.

_Happy birthday to you_

_Happy birthday to you . . ._

The music swelled as the song repeated, and the other guests began joining in.

Hevasi moved to his side as Ran, for once in his life at a loss for words, stammered his thanks to the famous musician. The holo blinked and disappeared as Leia and Aren returned to Ran’s other side. Together, they blew out the candles.

Surrounded by his family, Ran smiled as he watched Poe and Finn bicker over who would cut the _meekook_ , as little Han swiped a fingerful of cream, and as Master Sky Walker discreetly pulled a dried fish star from his pocket and added it to his plate. The pain of Ran’s past would never be forgotten, and the challenges of his current work were never out of mind. Yet the joy filling the dining room buoyed Ran, lifting him above his cares and elevating his very soul.

There were jokes on certain worlds about humans being “over the hill” when they reached 50. Ran had never given them much credence. But he knew with certainty that at least one part of the joke was true: here, on this midlife birthday, he stood on a mountaintop.

**Author's Note:**

> The real William Franklyn Leathers was once a student of Antillia’s. He is now studying trumpet at Juilliard, and he is also a gifted pianist.
> 
> I’m well aware that 40 is traditionally the age at which one is “over the hill.” But 50 is the new 40, right? At least that’s what I’m telling myself.


End file.
